


Right as Rain

by Sandtalon



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff, How Do I Tag, Injury, Mudslides, Rain, Sickfic, Snufkin has a tail, anyway, can be read either way, help hes got too much survival sense so i had to throw a whole mountain at him, its cannon, its not that bad, ok not a whole mountain, romance or friendship: take your pick, snufkin has paws, yall can fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-31 15:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandtalon/pseuds/Sandtalon
Summary: It's spring and Snufkin makes his way back to Moomin valley. it should be a simple trip, right? the rain and mountains say otherwise.Snufkin gets sick and dosn't want help bc he's got cat instincts. (Not sure where this is going, of if he's even gonna get that sick. snufkins too strong, yall. I had to keep upping the stakes and he was like "nah, lets wilderness the heck out of this, im immortal")





	1. Whoops

**Author's Note:**

> snufkin, trying to get to Moomin valley: ????? ?!?!?!?!?! what rain?????  
> The entire universe: just catch a cold already

It’s almost spring again in the mountains beyond Moomin Valley.

Snow has begun to melt, dripping off trees and settling between blades of grass, allowing flowers to push their way into the almost- warm air. It’s not truly warm yet, but the worst of the chill is gone. Snufkin notices all this at his breakfast campfire.

“It’s been getting warmer,” he remarks to nobody in particular.

Maybe the birds or the trees would care to listen, but if there’s nobody then that’s just fine as well. Yes, nobody but the mountain and what bugs or birds or whatever small animals are out there living their lives. It takes too much energy to be around others, and he’d like to save what reserves he’s built up for the summer.

“Guess I’d better be going. Let’s see, it’s about two days to the valley, so I should arrive right at the start of spring.” Snufkin glances up at the sky, sipping his coffee. “Maybe three, given those rainclouds. Moomin will be worried if I’m late much longer.”

He finishes his meal, washing out dishes in a nearby stream. The tent is easy to pack up- he doesn’t have to even think about it after years of wandering- and stored in the top of his backpack. With that, he’s off, walking by the rising sun northwards.

His harmonica makes for all the traveling companion he needs. That, and the swish-swish of his tail over a beaten path behind him keeps time to the tune, making traveling light.

A bird whistles along and Snufkin smiles, switching to his new spring song. The bird mimics it back, taking off ahead of him through the mountain valleys. The sun beams down and Snufkin plays again just for the sake of it.

Good weather isn’t in the cards forever. Rain begins to fall lightly in the afternoon, muddying the trail under his boots. He’s not cold- his trusty hat keeps rain off his face, and his coat is thick enough to keep the worst out. It’s not bad enough to stop traveling.

Snufkin takes higher paths to escape any possible flooded streams, navigating steep trails with ease and practice. A small cliff stretches out below him after a while, but at least his feet are dry. Lightning flashes above, dying out to the sound of Snufkin counting under his breath.

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5-“ _Boom_.

Snufkin pauses, evaluating his choices. That was close enough to warrant waiting out the storm. With each second, the rain picks up, and even these mountain paths are getting muddy. Unfortunately, the path has begun to slope up, and he needs to get down for any decent shot at finding a good dry spot, let alone pitching his tent. He’ll have to go off trail, which will most certainly lead to getting wet. It’s a little steep, too.

Well, so long as his blanket and book stay dry, there’s no real harm done.

Lightning flashes, and Snufkin makes his way down. He’s been this way before and taken shelter in a cave at the bottom that shouldn’t be too far away. It’s slick with mud, but he comes from a long line of wanderers. No matter how steep, no matter how high, he’ll be sure-footed.

Thunder booms out again, and Snufkin sighs wearily. He’s soaked through, and not even half way down. The sound of rain drumming on his hat isn’t half as nice as if he were fishing or sitting by the fire. He’s going to be a day late, as predicted. Lightning flashes, and something catches Snufkins eye.

A bit further up a bush is shaking from more than just the wind. As he watches, a small head pokes out, scrambling at the mud around it. Whoever it is will get sick if they don’t find better shelter. Snufkin climbs back up, taking care to find proper footing on his way.

It’s a squirrel, he realizes once he’s close. The little fellow has been caught in the bush somehow, and Snufkin steadies himself on the slope. It would only take one slip to fall, and that’s too steep of a drop to be comfortable.

The squirrel chatters at him angrily, swiping when he gets too close.

“Easy, little friend,” Snufkin murmurs as he reaches again. “I need these hands to get you free, now.”

The squirrel stares back balefully ad Snufkin pushes the bush away. Sure enough, the squirrel’s leg is caught in the roots- they must have shifted in all this rain.

“There you are, my friend.” He gently eases the squirrel’s leg out, nearly slipping in the process. “Now don’t get stuck like that again- you belong in trees on these kinds of afternoons.” Thunder booms out again, and the squirrel lunges.

The action startles Snufkin, and he’s briefly aware of the squirrel launching itself off his hat up onto an outcrop above him. Two realizations hit him at once.

The first is that his foot has slipped, and he’s now falling.

The second realization is he is much too high up for comfort.

Snufkin isn’t aware of much beyond that. He reaches out on instinct, but the mud is too slick to catch any handhold in his paws. His knee hits a rock, and the backpack softens the second landing. On the way down he thinks he meets a tree branch with his face, but it’s too fast to tell.

Snufkin is unconscious by the time he hits the ground in a shower of rubble.

 

 

 

He wakens to the sound of rain. At first Snufkin assumes he’s inside his tent, but then why is his face pressed into soaking dirt and cold seeping into his bones? The awkward weight on his back brings it all fresh to his mind, and Snufkin grunts, struggling to sit up.

He’s on somewhat dry ground, which is a small blessing. Snufkin wipes off the dirt on his face and shrugs off his backpack from where he sits, stretching his arms and legs to see if anything is badly hurt. He doesn’t feel dizzy or like throwing up, and nothing seems extremely painful, just bruised and battered.

Rain gets in his eyes and Snufkin glances around, locating his hat at the base of a nearby tree.

“Well,” he says softly. “That was a lucky fall.”

It was not quite so lucky, come to find out. The moment Snufkin puts weight on his left hand to stand pain spikes through his wrist. He shifts to the other arm, grabbing his hat and hefting his backpack and moving along the cliff side. Each step is unsteady, but he forces himself to go on. It’s hard to think straight when he’s so cold.

“Let’s see… The cave should be along here somewhere- aha!”

It’s nice and dry inside, but all the wood nearby is too wet for a fire. Snufkin takes off his hat and outer coat- they’re too wet to do any good against the cold- and lays them out to dry. With that done, he rummages through his backpack for a role of bandages.

His wrist is beginning to swell- it’s likely a sprain at this point. A couple of sticks serve as fine splints, and he keeps the bandages tight, compressing his wrist. It’s not where he’d like to be for this kind of injury- somewhere with his tent already set, a crackling fire, and a stream nearby would be much more preferable- but he’ll manage. He always has.

The cold continues to seep through him, and Snufkin yawns. It’s dangerous, he knows, to fall asleep soaking wet. Still, with no fire there’s not much of a choice. His thoughts are too muddled from cold and exhaustion to remember exactly why he shouldn’t – or can’t - light a fire.

Snufkin bundles himself up in his tarp rather than get his blanket muddy. When it’s warmer out he’ll have a chance to clean off, but lightning is becoming too frequent to risk washing now. Besides, it’s so cold.

Snufkins eyes drift closed, the tarp providing some protection from the elements.

He’s so very, very cold.


	2. Ouch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! its him!!! it's moomin!!!!

Snufkin wakens with a start. His joints are aching and muscles stiff, and even standing up is a pain. The rain has lessened into a fine mist, and the sky has darkened into nighttime. He needs to dry off.

He should have dried off earlier.

Why didn’t he start a fire?

He can’t remember getting into the cave, and only vaguely recalls wrapping his arm and curling up under the tarp. With somewhat steadier balance than before, he forces himself into action.

Snufkin grabs his coat, drawing it over shaking shoulders and squelching out to the muddy creek. It takes a good long while to get clean and find any wood that’s remotely dry, and he’s stumbling by the time he makes it back to the cave.

Ideally, nobody should handle matches while dizzy. Then again, they ideally wouldn’t be at risk of hypothermia either. Snufkin’s been wet and cold for too long. Pine needles on the cave floor make fine tinder, and he gets a small fire going at the cave mouth without too much fuss.

Snufkin props up his coat by the fireside and sets about making dinner. The sky darkens further, and gradually rain slows to a stop.

“Looks like I’ll be late” Snufkin murmurs, curling up in his blanket by the fire, keeping his bad wrist up on his backpack. “This sets me back one day, and the storm likely woke everyone from hibernation. If I take a shortcut up the mountain slope, that’s maybe two more days. Well, better late than never as they say.”

An owl hoots in the distance and Snufkin hoots back, smiling and then coughing when the owl calls again.

The fire burns to embers slowly as he drifts off to sleep, finally warm and dry.

 

Snufkin packs up early the next morning. His things are mostly dry, and his hat only a little damp, but everything’s clean and packed away properly. He eats a light breakfast due to an upset stomach before setting off.

It soon becomes apparent that he’s not as well as he’d like to be. The sun beats down, but every cool breeze blows straight through his bones. Maybe it was a false spring- but this late in the year it doesn’t seem likely. Snufkin shivers as he walks, taking out his harmonica to keep his mind off an aching wrist and head.

The mountain is difficult, especially with a cough that’s slowly getting nastier. He’s probably pushing himself too far, and every break takes longer and longer. The last time he was late weighs in the back of his mind.

Today’s the first day of spring.

Snufkin pauses at an outcrop, shivering as cold sweat slides down his neck. Since he can remember, he’s always enjoyed his freedom. He needs to be able to come and go as he pleases, but in the back of his mind, some small voice worries that if he leaves for too long, they’ll forget about him. It’s this fear that keeps him going; pushing on as the sun beats down. He can rest once he’s there, anyway.

There’s one other thing, too.

“I feel lonely,” Snufkin realizes on his way up the winding path. “Must really be sick, then.”

He really doesn’t want to arrive sick. They might tell him to stay indoors or make a bigger deal out of his cough than it is. He’ll figure it out once he’s there.

The day passes in much the same manner, Snufkin making his way slowly but surely through the mountain shortcut. He takes his time, stopping for meals or a particularly interesting tree near the top. By the time night falls, he’s out of breath and dizzy but a good deal further ahead than yesterday. He should arrive after just one more day of travel.

Snufkin pitches his tent with one hand- difficult but not impossible- and has a fire going before long. It’s too late for much fishing, so he makes do with an oatmeal. (It’s not too bad after he finds some nuts and crushes them in, along with a hatful of berries.)

 

 

 

“Mama?”

“Yes, Moomin dear?” Moominmama turns from the cookstove where a soup bubbles merrily.

“Do you think Snufkin’s all right? He’s usually here already.” Moomin stares out the window. “I heard a bird singing his spring song today, so he must be near.”

“Well, maybe the rain held him back.”

“Hmm.” Moomin opens the door, staring out at the night. There’s no campfire by the stream. “I don’t think so.”

“We’ll have to wait and see. Why don’t you play with little My and Snorkmaiden? It may help take your mind off things.”

Moomin stays where he is. “No, I want to wait for Snufkin.”

“Alrighty, dear. I know, why don’t we eat out on the porch tonight? It’s a lovely spring evening.”

The first dinner of spring is supposed to be full of laughter and happiness in the new season. Moomin is quiet throughout it all, his eyes straying to the tree line every time his mind wanders. It’s a new spring, but somebody important is missing.

Something might have happened.

 

 

 

The next day is longer. Snufkin makes his way through hacking coughs and shivers that threaten to knock him down. He almost falls over a couple times, warranting a quick break to catch his breath. He’s always been back on the first day- well, almost always. Today he’s officially late.

It doesn’t help that he can’t eat. Even thinking about food is difficult, and this last stretch - easily manageable in a half-day if he were healthy - is away from the stream. If he wants fresh water tonight, he needs to keep going.

It’s not really a choice at this point.

The path seems to wobble underfoot as Snufkin makes his way up another hill. He’s not completely aware of darkening clouds overhead, and only notices rainfall as it soaks through his coat. He hasn’t been dry for a full day. Possibly. He can’t quite remember. Snufkin adjusts his scarf, hunching his shoulders for warmth.

It’s too cold.

The final hill - it must be the final hill - rises, and Snufkin takes out his harmonica with shaking hands. A small part of him doesn’t want to play. He’d have more air in his lungs, more strength to travel.

He’s so hungry.

Regardless, it doesn’t feel right not to play. The notes are winding, and a little short, but it’s still a spring song. The path vanishes from view occasionally, and Snufkin finds himself struggling to stay upright.

“Snufkin!”

 _Ah, it's Moomin._ Snufkin smiles a little, continuing to play before breaking off into a cough that knocks the air out of him. He should have rested at the valley top. He manages to stand before Moomin catches up. It shouldn’t be this difficult to smile.

“Hello, Moomin.”

“Snufkin, It’s so good to see you! Oh, I was so worried something had happened to you - let’s go wake up Sniff and – are you all right? You look awfully pale.” Moomin reaches out placing a paw on Snufkins head. He can’t help but lean into the warmth a little. “You’re burning up!”

“I’m alright. That rain caught me by surprise earlier.” Snufkins’ vision begins to swim, and he moves towards his usual campground unsteadily. “A little rest and I’ll be fine.”

“I can ask Mama if there’s anything in granny’s book of recipes- let’s go!” Moomin tugs on Snufkins hand, and he lets out a gasp of pain when his wrist moves.

“Snufkin?” Moomin freezes, before turning to face him. Snufkin doesn’t move when Moomin gingerly rolls back the sleeve, revealing the day-old bandages and splint. Moomin looks up, concern and something else in his expression.

“You’re hurt,” he says quietly. Something in Snufkin's chest aches besides the cold.

“Nothing big,” Snufkin assures gently. “A little rest, that’s all.”

Moomin doesn’t look convinced, and Snufkin takes his friend by the other hand. It takes a lot of energy to keep his voice steady when another cough is bubbling up and his vision is blurring in and out of focus.

“Come on, Moomin.”

He goes to take another step towards his clearing when the earth rises up to meet him.

Everything shouldn’t be spinning.

“-nufkin? Snufkin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chap may be posted tomorrow???? it'll have the comfort/healing, no worries
> 
> Hi! I lied! it's not posted today/yesterday/whatever bc I forgot time existed! gimme like one more day and it'll be up. Sorry for the trouble!!!


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snufkins need for space vs. moomins need to comfort: the most difficult thing to write ever
> 
> *Sloth noises*

Moomin is afraid for his friend.

Snufkin had seemed all right at first- a little tired, and pale, and okay maybe he’d been coughing but- oh dear. His friend had collapsed, and now Moomin carries him up to the house. It’s hard work – he’s not as strong as he’d thought – but once he’s up the steps, Papa helps.

Mama presses a paw against Snufkin’s forehead, worry creasing her forehead. “Goodness, he looks like death warmed over! Bring him upstairs, the boy needs rest.”

Papa carries Snufkin upstairs to the guest room, Mama hurrying ahead to find blankets.

Moomin trails behind. He doesn’t like Snufkin looking so tired and sick. It’s not right.

 

 

 

Snufkin drifts in and out. He wakes up long enough to register being carried and worried voices. He remembers untying his shoes and collapsing into a bed. A downy comforter is pulled over him before he’s out again.

When he finally wakes up fully, light is streaming through a familiar window. This is Moomin house. He’s in a bed- possibly for the first time in years- and a mug of tea is waiting by the bedside. Snufkin sits up and is reaching for the tea when the door opens.

“You’re up!” Moomin gasps, clearly surprised. “Um, could I come in?”

“Sure.” Snufkin takes a sip while Moomin sits at the foot of the bed. It’s ginger tea with just enough honey. Moomin looks ready to say something, but Snufkin beats him to it.

“I’m sorry for worrying you last night.”

“Oh, it’s no bother. Mama said you must have walked for super long to get here like that.”

Snufkin coughs roughly before replying. It’s not the prettiest sound, and shakes the bed. “I suppose so. I can’t remember much of the last day or two, anyway.”

“A whole two days?!”

“It’s not that bad, I remember all of winter up until then anyway.” Snufkin catches the doubt on his friends face and smiles to reassure him. “Like I said - I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“You’re not fine!“

Snufkin blinks, taken aback. “It’s not that bad-“

“You faceplanted!”

And there’s really nothing Snufkin can say to that. He sets the mug aside before crossing his legs as if he’d planned to be here. “Maybe I wanted to.”

This, at last, gets a smile out of his friend. It’s smaller than he’d like, but it’s there. Moomin twists his tail between his paws, and Snufkin leans back against the headboard, taking advantage of the silence. He’s missed talking with people who could let conversations ebb and flow like the tide. There’s a time for talking, and a time for thinking.

Moomin breaks the silence first. “Are you going to be all right? Like _really_ all right, and not just because you don’t want anyone to worry?”

Snufkin hesitates, checking in on his own energy reserves before nodding. “Don’t worry. A little rest, a little time, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Not right in rain, though,” Moomin says mischievously, and Snufkin gives a rough, cracking laugh.

“No,” he says. “Not in rain.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Moominmama steps in. “My, it’s good to see you up, Snufkin. You gave us all a right scare earlier.”

“I’m sorry.” Shame weighs his shoulders down, and the walls begin to press in. He should be outside. “I’ll be out of the way soon.”

“It’s not any bother.” Moomin sounds downright offended.

“Moomin’s right, you know - it’s nothing to apologize for. Do you think you could manage some food?”

Snufkin blinks, processing the idea of food. He desperately wants to be away from prying eyes and all the people. It’s either that or his still-aching head that’s messing with his ability to think.

“If you wouldn’t… mind?”

“No trouble at all,” Moominmama says, answering the question he couldn’t ask. “If you need anything at all, or just someone to talk to, let us know.”

The door shuts behind her, and Snufkin turns back to find Moomin watching him quizzically. Snufkin waits, taking every second without talking to conserve his energy. His friend will ask in time. That’s just how Moomin is.

He needn’t wait long.

“What happened?”

Snufkin raises an eyebrow, knowing perfectly well what the question is but needing another moment to think about it.

“What I mean to say is… well, uh.” Momin frowns. “It’s just… the rain never got to you like this before.”

 _Well, it doesn’t usually throw me off cliffs._ Snufkin pushes the thought away in favor of a boiled-down version of the events. “I got caught in the storm a few days ago and fell a bit. Must have caught this cold then.”

Moomin’s eyes widen, pieces to the story fitting together. “That was about three days ago.”

Snufkin nods. “I spent a while resting.”

Moomin accepts this wordlessly. It’s an old conversation, one that was settled long ago with the entire Moomin family. Snufkin belongs outdoors, and no attempt to keep him in will go against this. It’s not wise to go against one’s nature, after all.

He can take care of himself. Except when he can’t, apparently.

A breeze flows in through the half- open window and Snufkin turns his attention to the outside. He enjoys Moomin’s company and needs to heal from the past few days, but it feels too much like being trapped. “I’d better be back to my camp soon.”

Moomin almost falls off the bed in surprise. “Not that I don’t think you can, but… You could barely stand yesterday!”

“I can walk fine,” Snufkin declares, before coughing badly enough he needs to take a moment to breathe.

“Right. Well. I’ll go and check with mama about that soup.”

Snufkin watches in bewilderment as his friend leaves, shutting the door behind him. He did something wrong, didn’t he?

It takes so much energy to talk. Especially now, when all he can focus on is getting better. Snufkin turns back to staring out the window, willing moments to pass by faster so he can get better. He loves this house and those who live in it, but it’s not for him. It’s just… too much.

He wants to pack up his things and leave.

 

 

 

Moominmama brings soup upstairs soon after. She adjusts his blankets while she’s up, and Snufkin shifts awkwardly. He’s not quite used to people caring for him like this- although it’s somehow not as terrible as he’d expected.

“Is Moomin all right?” Snufkin asks hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

“Oh he is.” Moominmama opens the window fully. “He’s simply trying to understand something, and it isn’t easy to do that while the something is happening.”

“Oh,” Snufkin says quietly. “I think I understand.”

Sometimes when he leaves in the fall it’s for the same purpose.

After lunch Moominmama sits down by the bed to check his arm. Snufkin thanks her quietly, though for more than just this- it’s for everything, really. He’d likely be far worse off outside, though it pains him to admit it.

Floorboards creak and Snufkin looks up to see Moomin waiting outside the doorway so as not to crowd the room. They exchange a slight nod in greeting, accepting that nows not the time to talk about whatever is bothering his friend. Moomin will come to him about it when he’s ready.

Moominmama begins to unwrap the old bandages. Snufkin tries not to make any noise, he really does, but when the bandage is unraveled a little hiss escapes his teeth.

“Oh, dear.” Moominmama glances up worriedly before he nods, and she finishes gently unwrapping the injury.

“Well you did a clever job of this, I must say. A while ago Snork had a similar sprain that healed up in just three weeks- I’ve medicine ready in case it happened again.”

“It’s no rush,” Snufkin remarks, keeping his wrist as still as possible while leaning back. He’s so tired. Moominmama heads upstairs, leaving Snufkin alone. He might fall asleep at this rate. It’s an idle thought that’s not enough to keep his eyes from half-closing.

Feet scuffle in the doorway and Snufkin wakens blearily. Moomin hesitantly comes in, cupping his own tea in both paws. “Snufkin?”

“Yes, Moomin?”

“Will you be leaving once you’re better?”

“Probably.” He’ll need to be alone for a while. Just until he feels less trapped, and phantom walls stop closing in.

Moomin scuffs the ground, face painted with the same worry that seems to descend on his friend every fall. Snufkin wishes it weren’t this way, but he needs space. More so than almost every person he’s ever met.

“It won’t be for the whole summer,” Snufkin clarifies softly. “Just for a bit once I’m better.”

“Mama said that your arm may need three whole weeks, though.”

“We’ll see.”

They leave it at that, but there’s something else neither of them can quite name that needs to be said. It will come in time, as with all things.

 

 

 

 

The days pass, and Snufkin slowly realizes he’s beginning to shut everyone out. Moomin catches on fast, giving him even more space than he would usually. It’s not that Snufkin wants to be closed off - it’s just that he’s beginning to reach his limits much faster.

Little My practically kicks down the door at one point to tell him the park keeper is back from vacation, and that they need to cause chaos immediately once he’s better, but that’s the most eventful thing to happen. He ends up retreating into the guest room and sleeping for most of the time, partially to pass the day but also because he’s exhausted.

It’s incredibly boring, until the door bursts open one mid-afternoon.

“I’m sorry,” Moomin announces breathlessly as though he’s just come to a revelation. “It’s my fault you’re stuck inside.”

Snufkin shuts the book he’s been not-quite-reading by the window. “And I’m sorry for arriving like this.”

He glances over to Moomin quickly, and a mutual apology passes between them. A tension neither had noticed starts to lift like fog over the sea at dawn.

“I’ve been wondering- and you really don’t need to answer- why didn’t you rest more on the way here?”

It’s not the question that’s surprising- it’s what Moomin does next. His friend sits down just outside the room before Snufkin can offer a seat. Snufkin freezes, realizing he’s been leaning away. The room isn’t exactly small, but he should be able to cope with multiple people inside at once. Now, he can barely manage to be around his best friend.

Has his need for space expanded by that much?

Snufkin thinks for a moment about how Moomin realized his boundaries so intuitively and recollects some of his journey through the hills. These last days especially… the answer to Moomin’s question presents itself easily.

“… I was lonely, I suppose.”

Moomin gasps, stars in his eyes. “You were lonely? For us?”

_For you._

“Yes.”

 

 

 

Snufkin’s well enough to leave that night. Relief and guilt follow him in equal parts as he steps out of the front door, but the presence of his friend by his side helps somewhat.

Moomin helps pitch his tent. It’s a nice meeting point for both their needs. He takes care to tie the lines tight and drive stakes into the ground while Snufkin busies himself by gathering enough wood for tomorrow.

They don’t speak, but that’s good. People on the road tend to talk too much, and these kinds of communal silences are rare in the cold months. He’s missed them. He’s missed Moomin.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right,” Moomin asks, twisting his tail nervously between his tail. “What with the cold and all.”

Snufkin looks up from the firewood. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a thick blanket and plenty of time to sleep.”

“And you’re not saying you’re fine just because…?”

“I promise. You better head back before you catch my cold. We can fish together tomorrow.”

“Well… Goodnight, Snufkin.” Moomin says, and Snufkin can see how hesitant he is to leave. He can also see how lantern and moonlight dances over his friends tired face, and how windows across the valley are winking out one by one. It’s late.

“Goodnight.” Snufkin glances to the distant cheery lights of Moomin House. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s his own kind of promise.

They belong in two different places, after all – one on the road and one at home. Snufkin knows how hard it is for his friend to accept that even in sickness, he prefers the outdoors. Likewise, he could never stay in one spot for years on end. They’ve worked hard to achieve the balance of needs that is their friendship. It’s held together by little unspoken questions and boundaries both know not to push.

Moomin sighs, before nodding resolutely and making his way back up. “I’ll be by tomorrow for fishing!”

There’s a cough building at the back of Snufkins throat threatening to cut him off, but he manages the last words anyway.

“I’ll be waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like,,, my first finished multichapter fic?? thx yall for reading, I hope this last bit lives up to expectations


End file.
